The Things We Leave Behind
by alishatorn
Summary: Huntbastian. When Hunter Clarington is given the task of guarding Prince Sebastian, he is overjoyed at the honor. That is, until he actually /meets/ him. With the kingdom in chaos and the prince more interested in chasing after handsome boys than doing his duties, will Hunter be able to fulfill his duties and keep the prince out of trouble at the same time?
1. Chapter 1

_(A/N: This fic has accompanying images which can be found linked off of my profile page.)_

**. . .  
**

**ONE.**

The first thing that Prince Sebastian notices is that the new guard is beautiful. He's all of eighteen years old and the boy looks about the same age as he, and when he is presented by Captain Anderson as part of the new detail, Sebastian smiles.

Hunter Clarington is tall and well-built, with a proud mouth and lovely blue eyes. His hair is short and neat, and he holds himself rigidly at attention.

"I like this one," Sebastian says, coming to a stop a few feet away from him. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Clarington, my prince," he says, snapping off a sharp salute. "Hunter Clarington."

Sebastian laughs. "Oh, I _do_ like this one," he says, and the captain rolls his eyes.

"Of course you do, my prince," Cooper says sardonically. "Shall I arrange to have him sent to your bed chambers?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "Very funny, captain," he says. "Although… put him on my private detail, would you?"

Cooper raises an eyebrow. "Prince, I handpick all of the men guarding the royal family myself and I can assure you that they are _exemplary_," he says. "But I cannot recommend having Clarington guard you personally so soon. He's fresh out of training; if someone were to—"

"To what? Attempt to assassinate me?" Sebastian asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "In my entire life, no one has even tried. Why would they? Everyone _loves_ me!"

At Cooper's unimpressed stare, Sebastian purses his lips. "So little faith, captain," he says. Abruptly, he turns back to Hunter, stepping inside his personal space. A small furrow appears in between the guard's brows, but he says nothing.

"Would you die for me?" Sebastian asks, and he's so close that he can see the pale flecks in Hunter's blue eyes. "Would you take a bullet for me? If someone tried to stab me, would you stop them?"

"I'm good enough to disarm your attacker before someone shoots, my prince," Hunter says. "But if it came to that, I would take a bullet for you."

Sebastian blinks, then laughs openly. "Handsome _and_ clever," he says, smiling. "There, you see, captain? I'm safe with him."

"My prince—" Anderson starts, but Sebastian waves him off, already walking down the line.

"I want him on rotation tonight," he says, folding his hands behind his back.

Cooper sighs. "I hope you paid attention during training," he says to Hunter, looking him up and down. "The prince is quite a handful."

Clarington salutes, and Anderson rolls his eyes.

"Teenagers," he mutters, and goes after the prince.

. . .

Hunter Clarington has one dream.

It had been answered the day he'd gotten accepted into training, and his mother had cried for an hour straight. Both his father and grandfather had protected the Smythes as part of the Royal Guard, and it had always been Hunter's dream to follow in their footsteps.

_Join the guard, serve the Smythes, bring honor to the Clarington name._ This is the mantra that he had repeated to himself as a twelve-year-old boy, and this is the mantra that he repeats now that he is eighteen.

Hunter lifts his chin, executing a sharp turn as he rounds the corner into the palace barracks. This is where he will be sleeping now that he's been assigned to guard the prince himself.

Much like the rest of his clan, Hunter holds the royal family in the highest esteem. His father had died protecting Sebastian's mother during a kidnapping attempt decades ago, and Hunter doesn't even remember his grandfather. He had died defending the palace during the last civil war. His sacrifice, along with many others, had ensured that the Smythes would be able to hold out long enough for reinforcements from an allied country to arrive. They had subsequently crushed the rebellion and peace had reigned since then.

A thrill goes up his spine as he signs in, snapping off a sharp salute at the bored-looking officer at the logs. "First shift?" Harwood asks, looking him up and down.

"Yes, sir," Hunter says proudly, and the other man smirks.

"You don't know, do you," he asks, but no part of his tone indicates a question. "Good luck."

Hunter looks at him in askance, but he's already turned back to his book. A glance at the clock reveals that he doesn't have much time before his shift starts, so he finds his bunk and stows his gear. He heads to the bathroom and washes up a bit, running a comb through his hair and ensuring that every part of his uniform is spotless.

Then he heads out, making his way through the palace's vast hallways and winding corridors. Smythe's room is at the very top of the west wing, and he'd been told to report there for duty every night unless otherwise noted. Most guards go years without serving the family directly, and Hunter is determined to prove himself worthy of the honor.

He's so lost in thought that he's completely taken by surprise when he hears a dull crash resound throughout the corridor, and he breaks out into a full-on sprint the rest of the way. Now that he's closer, he can hear shouting coming from within the prince's chambers, and his eyes widen when he notices the guards he's about to relieve doing nothing.

"The prince is under attack," he shouts. "Get a move on!" Without waiting for them to reply, he pulls out his pistol and throws open the door to Sebastian's room, fully prepared to wrest the prince from harm's way.

The scene that greets him, however, takes him entirely by surprise. The first person he looks for is the prince, who looks wholly unharmed as he shouts at a cowering page. "Your highness-"

Both Sebastian and the page turn towards Hunter in shock, and the prince's eyebrows draw together. "This had better be good," he says, eyes narrowing. "Or did they not teach you to knock in whatever hovel you grew up in?"

The two other guards are barely a step behind Hunter, and one of them elbows him sharply in the ribs and bows deeply. "Apologies, my prince," the blond says. "It's his first shift—he thought you were in danger and rushed in before we could stop him."

"I didn't ask you, Sterling," Sebastian says pointedly, but his gaze grows marginally less sharp. He turns back to the page. "Clean that up and get out of my sight."

The page scrabbles to do so, moving to the remains of what looks like a very expensive (and broken) vase. "At once, my prince," he says, sweeping everything into the garbage and rushing out.

"And as for you—" The prince turns to Hunter, looking him up and down. "You stay. Sterling, Duval—watch the door. He'll relieve you after I'm done speaking with him."

"Of course, your highness," Sterling replies, bowing as they shut the door behind them.

"I apologize for disturbing you, my prince," Hunter says, bowing deeply. He holsters his pistol. "I only meant to—"

"To save me from peril?" Sebastian interrupts, smirking. He walks up to Hunter, looking down his nose at him. He's only a few inches taller, but he uses every bit of it. "Hunter, isn't it? I remember you from the line-up."

Hunter nods. "Yes, my prince," he says. "Hunter Clarington."

"Very well then, Hunter Clarington," Sebastian says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll forgive the transgression because you're new here, but suffice to say that I won't stand for interruptions from here on out. My business within these chambers is my own, and there is only one way out of here—and you and the other guards stand before it."

"But your highness, surely the sounds of a struggle would warrant investigation," Hunter protests.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "The captain takes great care in checking my chambers before I set foot in it every night," he says. "And what you would consider sounds of a struggle might be… something else entirely." His tone holds enough innuendo that even Clarington blushes.

"I—I see," he stammers, then salutes. "If it is your will, my prince."

"It is," Sebastian replies. He sizes Hunter up for a moment or two longer, then smirks. "You really are a particularly handsome bit of furniture, aren't you?"

Hunter blinks, but the prince is already waving him away. "Leave now," he says. "I'm sure Sterling wishes to return to the barracks, and I tire of educating you."

Clarington has to bite his tongue to keep from replying, and he bows deeply as he backs out of the room and shuts the door behind him. Once outside, the other two guards smirk.

"Quite a handful, isn't he?" Sterling says, holding his hand out to shake. "My name is Jeff, and this is Nicholas. We're on your overlap shift, so you'll likely be seeing a lot of us."

Hunter shakes it, casting a glance at Nick before he takes up his post beside him. "Is the prince always like that?" he murmurs, and Duval chuckles.

"Worse, my friend," he says.

"Much, much worse."


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N: This fic has accompanying images which can be found linked off of my profile page.)

**TWO.**

A week passes, and each day Hunter reports for duty with significantly less enthusiasm.

His impossibly god-like perception of the Smythes notwithstanding, nothing he has seen of the prince impresses him even a little. Indeed, Sebastian spends far more time entertaining handsome noblemen in his room than he does in his office, and because of the king's poor health and his mother's frequent travels abroad, much of the goings on of the kingdom is handled by the royal advisor, Trent Nixon.

The advisor is a portly young man with a kind face, but Hunter is disgruntled at the fact that he seems far more invested in the kingdom than the young prince. He'd grown up with the royal family on a pedestal, and Sebastian in particular had been something of a hero of his.

It occurs to him now that forming an opinion on someone based on hearsay is unfair, but he can't help it. The young prince is known for his academic prowess and supposed rapier wit throughout the kingdom, and Hunter had always assumed that he would be scholarly and wise.

Serving as his personal guard, of protecting a prince who is wise beyond his years had always been a dream of his—but now that the position is his, reality is not so sweet.

Sebastian hasn't even been in his receiving room an hour when he cuts Trent off mid-sentence, getting up and waving him away.

"I tire of this discussion, advisor," he says. "Why don't you bother my father about this?"

Trent stutters and stops, bowing deeply. "The king has been unwell for the past month, my prince," he says. "And your people are in distress; we need a decision as soon as possible."

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "Why is this even a question?" he snaps. "I'll not have my kingdom known for reneging on terms. The borderlands were signed over to the Hummels decades ago."

The advisor pauses, biting his lip. "But sire, there are hundreds of your people now settled there," he says. "They won't leave without a fight."

Sebastian purses his lips. "Then you have my permission to take military troops to assist in the evacuation," he says, already striding towards the door.

"My prince-!"

Smythe exhales loudly, rounding on the man. "Don't try my patience with paltry matters, Trent," he says. "Dalton's treaty with McKinley was the only thing that kept us alive during the civil war. My grandfather gifted the borderlands to them in payment for saving my family, and I will not break a Smythe's word now that they've finally decided to_ use_ it."

When the advisor makes as if to protest once again, Sebastian holds up his hand. "The borderlands are practically wild," he says. "And if any of my people choose to make a home in such an uncivilized place, then clearly they're not the most productive of citizens in the first place. Have them moved to the eastern borders; the fields need more farmers, and I don't want their stench in the city. Use force if you must."

Hunter's fingers clench into fists at Sebastian's words, and Trent's mouth thins to almost non-existence. "Your will, my prince," he says, and the prince sniffs.

"See it done, Nixon, or I'll find another advisor," he says, gesturing at the door. Nick moves to open it, and Hunter falls into step behind Sebastian. "One with a backbone."

Trent looks at the floor, stricken, as the prince sweeps out of the room.

. . .

Another month trickles by, and even as sheltered as Hunter's life is within the palace walls, he hears about the unrest growing within the kingdom. The borderlands are in turmoil, the city dwellers are terrified of the wild folk spilling into the city, and Sebastian's father has grown so ill that he no longer rises from his bed. The queen is in France negotiating some sort of treaty, and the entire kingdom hinges upon one Sebastian Smythe… who is currently intent on bedding half of the young nobles across the land.

Hunter runs a hand through his hair as he hears the sort of sounds that the prince had ordered him to ignore filtering through the door. Sebastian had retired to his chambers early tonight, after which a nobleman had come to call. Nicholas had not looked particularly enthused at the man's entrance and it isn't long before Hunter finds out_ why_.

The man hasn't been there more than ten minutes when the sounds start, and when Hunter's hand strays towards his pistol, Nick shakes his head.

"Not that sort of struggle, my friend," he says, and sure enough, the thumping behind the door turns into something much more rhythmic, and the unmistakable sound of a low moan filters through.

"Does no one truly care that the prince is _engaged_?" Hunter asks, and Duval shrugs.

"Don't be too broken up about it," he says. "I'm sure that prince Kurt is about as eager to wed him as prince Sebastian is to him, which is to say not at all."

Hunter raises an eyebrow. "He's not fond of the prince?"

"Not as fond as he is of the captain's younger brother," Nick replies, shrugging. "You've never met him—he's a nobleman who got sent to McKinley a couple of years back. Rumor has it that the prince took a shine to him and that they've been pretty inseparable. The news annoys prince Smythe no end because he's been trying to seduce Blaine for ages but it just… never worked out."

A loud crash emanates from the bedroom, and Hunter jumps. "I can't imagine why," he says dryly.

Nicholas chuckles, shaking his head. "Not quite as glamorous a job as you thought?" he jokes, and Clarington ducks his head. There is another crash from inside the chamber, but this time both he and Nick ignore it.

"It isn't glamour I'm after," he says, pursing his lips as he glares straight ahead. He'd happily stand guard for hours on end if only the prince was actually someone _worth_ protecting. "But no, this isn't what I expected."

Before Nick has a chance to reply, the door to the prince's room swings open and the nobleman struts out, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. Hunter reaches for the door to pull it closed behind him, and as his hand closes over the handle, he catches a glimpse of the prince—completely naked as he rises from his bed and reaches for a robe. Two of his high-backed chairs have been overturned and the clothing he'd previously been wearing is scattered across the floor.

Hunter freezes.

In as much as he's grown to dislike the prince, he can't deny that he is the most desired man in the kingdom for a _reason_. His body is long, lean, and perfectly proportioned, with his golden skin flushed from his night's entertainment. Seeing him like this takes the breath from Hunter's lungs.

He must have uttered some sound because Sebastian looks up sharply, his piercing eyes meeting Hunter's across the room. He raises an eyebrow as if in challenge, completely unabashed by his nudity, and Hunter closes the door so quickly he almost catches his fingers in the gap.

"Everything okay?" Nick asks, and Hunter nods.

"Amazing," he says hoarsely. "_Incredibly_… amazing."

Duval shoots him a strange look, and Hunter straightens abruptly. His cheeks are burning, and thoughts of the prince plague him as he stands at his post. He's got hours yet before the next shift is due to arrive, and Hunter has a feeling that he won't be thinking of anything else any time soon.

It's a _very_ long night.

. . .

The situation in the borderlands continue to escalate, and each day that passes sees an increase in guards in the courtyard. A civil war is brewing in Dalton, and the prince becomes increasingly agitated as Trent continues to bring reports of skirmishes all across the borders.

The denizens of the wild areas of his kingdom are not pleased with having to relocate, and the Hummels grow impatient with the wait. They will not raise a hand to evict Smythe's people from what is now technically their territory due to their long-standing peace, but they will also not wait forever.

Despite Trent's pleas to the contrary, the royal response at every report is to send more troops to quell the unrest. Sebastian has taken to drowning himself in wine and pleasant company to take his mind off of things, and soon even the palace is filled with murmurings of displeasure.

The noblemen are not happy with the young prince's decisions, the military is not happy at having to send soldiers to hurt innocents, and Sebastian is angry at being judged.

And as for Hunter—still loyal to a fault despite his politics, he shadows the prince's every step, a faithful member of his guard and a constant presence at his back. He still hopes against hope that the prince will wake up one day and change his mind, that he'll take the reigns of his kingdom and rule fairly and justly, but he also knows that he shouldn't hold his breath.

The Captain has changed the roster of the prince's personal guard, and he tells the ones who are left to watch themselves. There have been many death threats on the prince's person as of late, and Cooper starts randomizing the shifts in order to adapt to the situation.

One of Hunter's shifts gets moved to midnight, and it is on one such shift that he reports to the prince's room to relieve Nick. It's dead quiet when he arrives, taking up his post beside Harwood. It's a poor day indeed when even the quartermaster must stand at post, but Thad is a loyal soldier. One of the few left.

"Careful," Nicholas mutters, nodding in greeting as he steps out of line. "He's in a crap mood tonight."

Hunter rolls his eyes. "What else is new?" he asks, and Thad chuckles.

"He was asking for you earlier," he says. "Probably surprised that they changed the rotation. I told him you'd be in at midnight, so he might call you in."

"What for-?" Hunter asks, frowning, but no sooner do the words leave his lips than the door swings open, revealing an irate prince.

All three of them snap to attention, and Sebastian's eyes light up when they fall upon Hunter. "You're on time," he says. "I'm glad I can always count on the guards to be prompt. Come inside, Clarington. Duval—you're dismissed."

"Yes, my prince," Hunter says, shooting Nick a confused look, but he enters Sebastian's chamber without question as the prince steps aside.

The door clicks shut behind them.

"How may I assist you, my prince?" Hunter asks, following the other a short distance into his room. Smythe is already dressed for bed, with his robe fastened carelessly over his sleep clothes. His hair looks tousled and very soft to the touch. He looks strikingly human, and Hunter fixes his gaze on the ground.

"The noble Weston failed to show up tonight," Sebastian says, taking a seat on the couch. "And it appears that I am absent pleasant company. So: sit with me, Clarington. And tell me about yourself."

"My prince?" Hunter's brows draw together, and he pauses, torn between obeying a direct order and doing his duty. "I must stand guard—the captain will not be pleased if you are absent protection."

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "I'm sure Harwood can manage all my would-be assassins," he says. "And besides, it's past midnight. I'm sure most of them are sleeping now."

He manages a smirk that actually looks charming for once, and Hunter is not immune to it. He hesitates only a moment longer before sitting on the couch opposite him, his back rod straight as he takes his seat.

"I cannot leave my post long, my prince," he says.

"Of course not," Sebastian says, leaning back and studying the young guard. He pours himself a goblet of wine and it becomes clear as the night and their conversation progresses that it is not his first.

Smythe questions Hunter about his family, quizzing him about their long line of service to the military and about his motivations for joining the service. Hunter refuses any libations as he is on duty, and Sebastian rolls his eyes but doesn't press.

The prince's questions are not entirely unwelcome; he is charming and comments in all the right places in Hunter's stories. Clarington actually finds that he enjoys Sebastian's company—his dry wit is amusing, and soon he finds himself returning his smile.

The conversation turns sour, however, when the prince starts speaking of the unrest in the kingdom. As if it wasn't clear enough from his actions, his words confirm that he cares nothing for the people in the fringes of Dalton's territories. He had been born a prince and raised in wealth; his disconnect with the public is nothing short of astounding, and Hunter has to bite the insides of his cheek to keep from speaking his mind.

"I must go, my prince," he says instead, glancing at the clock. He's been keeping the prince company for the better part of an hour, and it is time he returns to his post. "Please let me assist you to your bed."

Smythe chuckles, allowing Hunter to grip his elbow and help him get to his feet. "So gallant," he says. "By all means—assist me to my bed, then."

They haven't gone more than a few steps when Sebastian turns to him, his green eyes narrowed and fixed on Hunter's mouth. He is very drunk. He forgets himself, then, and kisses Hunter's jaw, dipping his hand in the waistband of his pants.

"Prince Sebastian," the soldier falters. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Clarington?" Sebastian laughs into his skin. "I've seen you looking at me. Even when you think I look away. You _want_ me."

"I—Apologies, my prince," Hunter says, trying to keep his hands at bay. "I meant no offense."

"The only offense I would take is if you do not enter my bed this night," Sebastian says, raising an eyebrow as the guard grips his wrist.

Hunter's face remains unconvinced, and Sebastian's fists the collar of his uniform. "What is the first rule of the guard?" he demands.

"To obey the royal family," Hunter says immediately.

Sebastian's eyes turn cold, and he pushes Hunter against the wall. "Then _obey_ me, Clarington," he says. "And do as I _say_."

He attempts to open the collar of Hunter's uniform again, and this is when the soldier _snaps_. He grabs hold of the prince's shoulders and reverses their positions, eyes blazing as he shoves him back against the wall. All traces of seduction are sapped from the room, and Sebastian is knocked against the wall so hard that his teeth rattle. "What is _wrong_ with you?" Hunter hisses, and Sebastian has never seen a gaze so furious turned at him.

"H-how dare you-!" Sebastian tries to pull away, but Hunter holds him fast. The prince's body is well-maintained, but he knows nothing of true strength. It's an easy thing to keep him in place.

"How dare _I_?" Hunter's voice is low and incredulous. "How dare _you_, _prince_. Your people are crying out for a leader, but all you care about is having your own way, no matter what the cost to everyone around you. Two generations of Claringtons have given up their lives to protect your family, and for _what_?"

"So you can hide away from your responsibilities and play games in your room?" His fingers dig into Sebastian's skin; he's going to leave bruises but he's beyond caring. They can hang him for all he cares; his illusions are glass, and they've shattered under Smythe's actions. "You throw yourself around while the kingdom _tears_ itself apart—when was the last time you looked outside the window?"

Hunter smashes a fist against the wall beside Sebastian, and the prince shrinks back, terrified. "I-I'll have your head for this," Smythe whispers.

"Take it, then," Hunter says in disgust, releasing him. He steps away from the prince, shaking his head. "I would have died for you, but you're nothing but a spoilt, selfish _child_. And you're unworthy of the crown that you've done _nothing_ to earn."

Sebastian slides to the floor, his face pale.

Hunter turns on his heel and leaves him there, slamming the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

_(A/N: This fic has accompanying images which can be found linked off of my profile page. Thanks so much for all the cool comments and for waiting so patiently, guys! Updates will come once a week now, if not more often! 3)_

. . .

**THREE.**

As soon as Hunter steps out of Sebastian's chambers, he knows that something is wrong. Harwood isn't at his post and the corridor is deathly quiet. The hair on the back of his neck rises and his hand automatically drops to his holster, but before he can pull it out, the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked breaks the silence.

"Put it down," a voice behind him says softly, and Clarington freezes. Three men dressed in black emerge from the shadowed alcoves, and Hunter swears softly.

"You'll never get away with this," he grinds out, even as he drops his pistol. "Even if you manage to kill him, the queen won't stop until your heads are on pikes."

The man behind him chuckles. "Assassination is not our goal," he says, and nods at the others. "Bind his hands and gag him."

The others step forward to comply, and for a split-second, the leader's gun hand wavers as he shoves Hunter towards them. It is all the opening he needs, and he _takes_ it.

Quick as a whip, Clarington ducks beneath their grasping arms and drives his shoulder hard into the nearest man's gut, bowling him over as he knocks him to the ground. He reaches for his gun but it has skittered away in the commotion, and Hunter bares his teeth as he narrowly avoids being gutted by a long blade. The assailants are dressed for stealth and they have weapons for subterfuge; gun shots would have alerted the rest of the palace.

Military training kicks in and Hunter takes out the second one by driving his elbow hard into his jaw, wincing as his blade grazes his arm. He can feel blood flow from the wound, but he hasn't lost use of the arm yet and he prays it's only a flesh wound. It distracts him long enough for the third man to rush him, however, and he catches him in the mid-section as they careen into a nearby pillar. It causes a bronze hanging to crash to the floor, the sound ringing across the hall.

"God damn it!" the leader hisses and, tossing all pretenses at subtlety aside, fires at Hunter at point-blank range.

It's only through sheer dumb luck that the man Hunter is struggling with manages to smash his face into the floor at the same time. The bullet whistles past the space where his head would have been, and the shot is deafening in the hallway.

The other two men have risen by now, and they help the third hold Clarington down. "Just kill him," the leader says sharply. "We don't have time for—"

His words cut off when the door to Sebastian's chambers slams open, revealing the prince himself. He has a thunderous expression on his face and his chest is bare; he'd obviously already gone to bed. "What the hell is going on out here?" he demands.

Every eye in the corridor turns to him in shock, and Hunter renews his struggles.

"Prince—_get back inside_," he manages to get out, before the man holding him down gives him a vicious right hook. Pain blooms across his jaw and Hunter tastes copper on his tongue; the leader levels his pistol at the prince.

"Stay where you are," he snarls, keeping his arm trained on Sebastian as he edges towards him. He withdraws a pair of iron manacles from his waist, and tosses them in his direction. "Put those on, Smythe. You're coming with us."

Sebastian catches them instinctively and stares at them for a moment, and the man on top of Hunter raises his blade. "Fucking _run_, Sebastian!" Clarington shouts, and his assailant knocks his head against the marble so hard that he sees stars.

"Shut your mouth," he says viciously, and Hunter can feel the point of his short sword digging into his uniform right above his heart.

There is a painful beat as everyone stares at the young prince, and he looks at the manacles in his hands and then back to Hunter. The door behind him is still open; they clearly don't want him dead so they wouldn't risk shooting him, and he can still make it if he locks the door behind him and waits for reinforcements to come. But if he does—Hunter is as good as dead, and they both _know_ it.

"Fuck!" Sebastian swears, putting the manacles on and clicking them into place. "D-don't kill him. I've put them on-!"

In the distance, alarm bells begin to sound.

"Cut his throat," the leader growls, turning back to Hunter. "We don't have time to tie him up."

"No!" Sebastian shouts, when the man raises his blade to comply. Mind racing, the prince holds up his hands. "He—he's a nobleman, my lover, Brody Weston. His family is very rich—they'll stop at nothing to find you if you kill him. Please-!"

"Why's he dressed as a guard then?" The man on top of Hunter challenges, a thin line of red welling across Clarington's throat as he pressed down with his blade.

"Because I'm engaged and we're trying to be _discreet_, you savage," Sebastian spits, trying to step forward. The leader grabs him by the arm and holds him fast. "Just—_leave_ him, he won't cause any trouble and I'll come with you willingly."

"I say we bring him with us," one of the others pipes up. "Ransom him. I bet what he's worth could keep us in coin for a year."

"Fine!" Sebastian says loudly. "Excellent idea, I'd love company while I'm having my fingernails pulled out. Just don't _kill_ him."

Hunter's eyes are practically sparking as the leader shoves his cloak at the prince. "You make a noise, you try to run away, and we kill him," he says. "We need _you _alive—him, not so much. Understand?"

Sebastian pulls it over his bare shoulders, nodding quickly. "Yes," he says. "I—I'll be quiet."

"Oh, we know you will," the leader says. "We'll make sure of it."

He nods at the man holding Hunter down, and the last thing Clarington sees before a fist smashes into his jaw are Sebastian's frightened green eyes.

. . .

By the time Hunter comes to, the sun is high in the sky and the light burns his eyes. He groans softly, trying to reach up to touch his bruised jaw when he realizes that his hands are shackled. He also appears to be in some sort of carriage, and it is _moving_.

He sits up with a start, the events of last night flooding back as he looks around wildly for the prince.

"Oh. You're awake."

Hunter turns his head, instantly regretting the swift movement as his temples begin to throb. "Wh-where are we?" he asks Sebastian, wincing. "Are you all right?"

"We're in a carriage," the prince answers, raising an eyebrow. "If your brain is too addled to register even _that_, then they must have hit you harder than I thought."

He folds his arms across his chest, looking away. "And I'm fine."

Hunter sighs, closing his eyes briefly as he tries to make himself a little bit more comfortable. His manacles are attached to a metal ring embedded in the center of the carriage, and the thin layer of hay strewn across the floor doesn't quite hide the bloodstains. It's clearly a cart meant for transporting prisoners, and Hunter shudders inwardly. Escape will be hard to achieve.

"I meant," he says, trying again. "Where are we in your _kingdom_, sire?"

Sebastian smiles thinly. "West," he says. "We've been travelling since last night, and they've not yet stopped to change the horses. I can only assume we'll be travelling for quite a while."

A day's ride, west from the castle, with no signs of stopping. Hunter winces as he realizes exactly where they're headed, and Sebastian's unimpressed stare only makes him feel worse.

"Do you think it's true that they eat people in the borderlands?" the prince asks idly. "Because if they do, I'd volunteer you first. My compassion only extends so far, after all."

Hunter grits his teeth. "I will do my utmost to free us before then, my prince," he says. "And no, they do not eat people in the borderlands."

Sebastian smirks. "And how would you know, my dear Hunter?" he asks. His hands are manacled but he isn't chained to the floor, and he rises gracefully and moves closer, taking a knee beside him. "You've never known life past the city."

"One of the guards I trained with grew up in the borderlands," Hunter says. He watches as Sebastian extends a hand towards him, and he realizes with a start that the wound on his arm has been bound with a strip of cloth. The prince had clearly aided him when he was unconscious. "They're people, just like you."

Smythe's mouth twists. "Maybe not," he says, fingers curling around Hunter's bicep as he checks the gash. "Considering the fact that they think kidnapping me is the way to getting what they want."

"Maybe if you would _listen_ instead of just throwing more soldiers at them, they wouldn't have had to kidnap you," Hunter says without thinking, and Sebastian narrows his eyes and snatches his hand away.

"What would a soldier know of politics?" he snaps. "The way you talk, I'm surprised you even bothered to try to stop them. You should have just let them have me and be done with it."

He retreats to the far side of the carriage and sits in the corner, refusing to look at Hunter, and the guard sighs deeply.

"Apologies, my prince," Hunter says. "I spoke out of turn. You saved my life and tended to my wounds; my life is, as always, in your hands."

Sebastian rolls his eyes. "I saved your life because you were clearly ready to give up yours to protect mine," he says. "And I tended to your wound because you wouldn't be able to overpower our captors if your arm becomes infected. We're even now, Clarington. That's all this is."

Hunter nods stiffly. "Of course, my prince," he says, and Sebastian pointedly turns his chin away.

They don't speak for the rest of the day.

. . .

Night has fallen by the time their captors break their journey, and by now they are well past the city limits. They are in farm country, and another two days in this direction will bring them firmly within the borderlands. Hunter knows that when they reach that place, it will be near impossible to survive in the wild even if they do manage to escape. He will have to move before they reach their destination.

The door to the carriage is opened and firelight spills inside. One of their captors enters and unchains him, and then he and Sebastian are pulled roughly outside. Hunter's manacles are fastened to a tree trunk, and the prince is pushed to sit beside him in the dirt. Sebastian's hands are bound together but he is not chained to anything; clearly they do not fear that he would run.

"Eat," the man says roughly, thrusting a bowl of water and a loaf of stale bread at them. Hunter accepts both items, but the prince makes a face when he tries to give him his share.

Clarington sighs inwardly, waiting for their captor to move away before he shifts closer to Smythe. "Prince, you have to keep up your strength," he whispers, holding out Sebastian's portion. "If and when I free us, we will not have horses and we'll need to make our way back to the city on foot. The journey will be long and dangerous; you _need_ to eat."

Smythe rolls his eyes, but takes back the loaf. "If I chip a tooth and choke on this, it's your fault," he says, tearing a small chunk off. He grimaces at the taste, but swallows when Hunter raises an eyebrow. "Happy?"

"If you finish the whole thing, I will be," Hunter counters. He leans back against the tree and squints, trying to make out the figures silhouetted ahead.

Their original captors had been joined by three other men, and now the small group sits by the fire and talk in low voices. Their hoods are gone but Hunter does not recognize any of their faces; they're very likely mercenaries.

"Have you heard anything useful?" Hunter asks, eating quickly and quietly. "These men are well-trained, but they don't seem like they're from the borderlands."

"Because they don't smell like sewage?" Sebastian snorts.

"Because they don't hate you nearly enough," Clarington replies dryly. With the growing unrest throughout the kingdom, he doubts any of the borderland dwellers would spit on Smythe if he was on fire. "They're mercenaries, and when they take you to the borders, they will turn you over to whomever is organizing the militia."

Smythe frowns. "And then?"

"Ransom you in exchange for full withdrawal of the troops?" Hunter says, shrugging. "Your guess is as good as mine, but it seems like the only reason they'd want you alive."

Sebastian glares. "What, no intellectual discourse over brunch?" he asks. "No negotiations of treaties?"

Hunter raises an eyebrow, and the prince has the grace to at least look ashamed. Trent had been begging him to open talks with the rebels for weeks, but all Sebastian had done was send more troops to subdue them. "I suppose not," he concedes, sighing. "Well. You know what they say about hindsight."

Now it's Clarington's turn to snort, and he passes the untouched water bowl to the prince. "Drink," he says. "And try to get some rest. I will watch over you."

Sebastian accepts the bowl, never taking his eyes off of Hunter as he sips from it. He takes exactly half of the ration, then passes it back to the guard.

"You can have more," Hunter says, but Sebastian merely shakes his head.

"It's fine," he says, and moves to lean against the tree trunk as well. His shoulder brushes against Hunter's, and the guard is suddenly reminded that he has nothing under his rough cloak but a pair of sleep pants and thin slippers. Clarington's uniform consists of several layers, but having his hands manacled together and subsequently chained to the tree pretty much makes gallantly shedding his coat an impossibility.

He frowns. They are far from the fire, and he can feel Sebastian shuddering beside him. "My prince?"

"Keep your hands and everything else to yourself, Clarington," comes the annoyed reply, and Hunter sighs.

"Of course."

He waits precisely fifteen minutes before Sebastian drops off, and subsequently gathers the sleeping, shivering prince into his arms.

"You're far more agreeable when you're asleep," he tells him, and Smythe makes a soft noise of acquiescence and burrows closer into his chest.

Hunter rolls his eyes.


End file.
